Lost in timeless fall
by LightningShades
Summary: As it is right now, this document here has been receiving quite the good impressions on my own facebook (which will be kept private here) and in my first language. This one is my own translation of my short story. Again, sorry for the mistakes and I hope you all enjoy yourselves here.
1. English version!

Lost in timeless fall.

The young lady was looking outside with an absent look. She was deeply thinking, or maybe feeling. Her eyes were following the falling leaves as they were floating around. Recurrent noises in the diner were not even a disturbance anymore, only her breath was vibrant in her lungs.

Someone had turned the music on.

The policemen was eating his breakfast, preoccupied by an empty stomach.

Further away, a lonely man was eating his eggs while talking to himself about his dog or his ex.

The waitress would refill an empty cup or two, from time to time.

The young lady was staying still, not moving. Her eyes were stretched on the land outside, and the leaves would still fall, scattering endlessly. Her breath would be filled with emotional struggle.

The music was soft.

The policemen had left.

The lonely man was running outside, his dog hurt by a passing car.

The waitress was cleaning up empty cups.

The young lady, empty eyes, was still looking at an empty outside, seeing an empty land, with no more leaves falling from the trees, giving place to a nothing-at-all kind of emptiness. Her breathing was normal, but felt completely useless.

The music went silent.

Everyone had finally left.

The waitress, now alone, was crying wholeheartedly.

The young lady was now looking at the waitress. Leaflets, commands and receipts of all sort would now scatter around on the old floor. The door was locked, nobody would come at this hour. The waitress was quietly minding her business, her breathing shortened by sorrow and sadness.

The young lady was not breathing.

One cannot breathe when being dead.

Outside, the golden leaves were scattered all around the cold soil of the old cemetery.

The young lady stood up, looking at her mother one last time.

One last time before her own burial.


	2. Original Version (Français)

**A/N: this is the promised original version of Lost in timeless fall that I actually wrote on my Facebook. It is french, mind me. Enjoy!**

 **FR: C'est la version originale de mon histoire Lost in timeless fall. Elle a été écrite sur mon Facebook. Amusez-vous! (français)**

La jeune fille regardait dehors avec un air absent. Elle était profondément ancrée dans ses pensées, ou ses émotions. Ses yeux suivaient sans les voir les mouvements des feuilles qui tombent. Les bruits ambiants du casse-croûte ne la dérangeait plus, seule sa respiration vibrait dans ses poumons.

Quelqu'un avait démarré la musique.

Le policier mangeait tranquillement, trop occupé par son estomac.

...

Plus loin, un homme parlait seul de son chien et de son ex, tout ça en avalant promptement ses oeufs.

La serveuse refilait une ou deux tasses vides de temps à autre.

La jeune fille ne bronchait toujours pas. Ses yeux étaient rivés sur le paysage dehors, et les feuilles tombaient encore, sans arrêt, une respiration un peu saccagée par des émotions qui refusent d'être refoulées.

La musique était douce.

Le policier n'était plus là.

L'homme seul courait dehors, son chien blessé par une voiture.

La serveuse ramassait des tasse vides.

La jeune fille avait un regard vide, rivé sur un paysage vide, les feuilles colorées avaient finit de tomber, laissant la place à un rien-du-tout vide. Respiration normale, mais dénuée de sens.

La musique s'était tue.

Tout le monde était parti.

La serveuse, maintenant seule, pleurait à chaudes larmes.

La jeune fille regardait la serveuse. Les feuilles de reçus et des commandes tombaient sur le plancher usé. La porte d'entrée était maintenant fermée à clé, plus personne ne venait à cette heure, la serveuse vaquait à ses occupations, sa respiration coupée par la peine.

La jeune fille ne respirait plus.

On ne respire pas quand on est mort.

Dehors, les feuilles recouvraient de leurs couleurs dorées le sol froid du cimetière.

La jeune fille se leva, et quitta sa mère pour une dernière fois.

C'était l'heure de son enterrement.


End file.
